Chapter 3

"It does not matter how slowly you go, as long as you do not stop." - Confucius

It was getting darker.

A lump formed in Severus Snape's throat, one so large that he dared not swallow for risk of choking on his own tongue.

Slowly, shakily, he placed the stirring rod he'd been holding down on the table in front of him. He'd rolled up his shirtsleeves – starting with the right sleeve because his left forearm always revolted him – intent on bottling the Draught of Peace he'd left simmering overnight. It was then that he'd noticed that the godforsaken tattoo had darkened considerably against his pale skin, just in the few hours he'd been asleep.

Severus breathed harshly through his nostrils, pushing aside the desire to sever his arm and incinerate it. He cast a stasis charm over his potion and set a timer, aware that the charm wouldn't keep the draught for too long. When his work was no longer in a compromising position, Severus took the time for study the Dark Mark up close.

"Shit," he swore.

By all accounts, it actually wasn't too noticeable. Yet. But to the trained eye (an Auror tasked with apprehending rogue Death Eaters, perhaps), it might as well have been black and writhing obscenely beneath his sallow skin. There was now no longer a single doubt in his mind, especially with the Potter brat slowly but surely climbing his way to majority.

The Dark Lord was rising again, and sooner rather than later.

With a shudder, Severus sent a Patronus to summon Dumbledore, and turned to continue bottling the Draught of Peace. He worked to clear his mind, knowing the old man would be requesting access via the Floo Network before long. The information he had to share was far too sensitive to be written out on parchment and sent by owl.

Severus moved around his private potions lab, clearing tables and levitating the now empty bronze cauldron to the sink for hand-washing later. One cauldron yielded seventeen 12-ounce vials for his personal stock. He tucked two of the vials in a pocket inside his robes.

Two birds, one stone…

Preparing a tea service was next. He had to keep his body in motion, his mind active on other tasks or else he would begin spiraling. And Severus could not afford to spiral, especially now.

The kitchen in his home was tiny, most of the appliances and crockery being as old as he was. Severus didn't mind too much. He was fortunate to only have to spend summers in this hovel known as Spinner's End. Maneuvering through the small space – his movements somewhat static and robotic – Severus set water to boil, poured milk, and rummaged through the cupboards for a specific tea blend. Just before he was able to put everything together on a tray, he heard the Floo erupt from the sitting room, a tight voice calling out to him.

"Severus? Severus, may I come through?"

Severus' jaw tightened. He hated it when the old man posed a request in that oft-demanding tone.

Breathe.

He laid two spoons on the tray, then stalked into the living room. Dumbledore's head was on full display in his fireplace, sparks dancing around his ears and nose. He was not smiling. Once he was within sight, Severus nodded his assent, and Dumbledore wasted no time stepping through.

"Let me see it," he ordered, brushing soot off his robes.

Severus scowled. "Forgoing any normal formalities today, are we?"

Dumbledore's usually kind blue eyes were steely and unforgiving. Severus felt a presence at the back of his mind, but his Occlumency walls were as impenetrable as always – the presence retreated, and Severus' scowl turned into a sneer. Dumbledore met the look of opposition without blinking.

"This is serious, Severus."

"I am the last person you should impress the seriousness of this situation upon, Albus." Without another word, Severus rolled up his left shirtsleeve to reveal the Dark Mark; he used his right hand to levitate the tea service out of the kitchen.

Dumbledore's eyes were now unreadable as he stepped forward and gently grasped Severus' arm. The younger wizard resisted the urge to flinch; he hated people touching him, and he especially hated it when hands touched his bare skin.

He was pinned there, as Dumbledore completed his examination (which felt, to Severus, like hours). At last, the old man let him go, and Severus immediately pulled his sleeve down. He rubbed his wrist and glowered at Dumbledore's backside; if the headmaster knew he was on the receiving end of a deathly glare, he chose to ignore it, opting to begin preparing his tea. Cautiously, Severus prepared his own cup once Dumbledore was settled on the threadbare couch.

"We have much to discuss, it seems," the wizened old man murmured into his beverage.

A tension headache was now sneaking up on Severus. He swallowed, plopped a couple more sugars in his tea, and stirred. Before he brought the cup to his thin lips to taste, he asked, "Would I be correct in assuming you're still going ahead with this brainless plan of yours?"

Dumbledore chuckled, but the sound lacked warmth. "Brainless it is not, I assure you, Severus. And yes, I will be announcing the return of the Triwizard Tournament in September – with the support of the Board and the Minister, of course."

"Of course," Severus scoffed, taking a seat furthest from the headmaster. "The Dark Lord will rise again by this time next year, so of course let us busy ourselves with games to distract from the inevitable."

"These games," said Dumbledore sharply, "will undoubtedly improve international relations. We need allies in this upcoming battle, Severus; we cannot fight it alone." His voice pitched lower. "Especially now that the Order has lost a most valuable asset."

Severus looked down. The hand gripping his teacup was ghostly white. "Poppy did not deserve to die the way she did." His stomach roiled when he thought of how her final moments may have been, when she should've passed seaside in a comfortable bed surrounded by loved ones. Himself included. He continued, "And neither did she die merely to be reduced to an asset of the greater good."

Not phased in the least, Dumbledore sipped his tea. "But she was, Severus, or have you forgotten the countless nights she spent tending to your wounds in those last months before Voldemort's fall?" Severus' magic sparked in equal parts shock and outrage, but Dumbledore simply held up a withered hand. "She was an asset and, most importantly now, so are you. The work you both have done for the Order is unsurpassed, and I believe it goes without saying that we will need you now more than ever before."

Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he finished his tea and cast his cup to the side. He leveled the old man before him with an even stare.

"Whom exactly will be… replacing Madam Pomfrey at Hogwarts?" he finally asked. "Considering her role was so pivotal, I can't imagine you'll be handing the position of matron off to someone too incompetent."

"You'd be correct in that assumption," said Dumbledore through pursed lips. "Professor Vector pitched a very compelling referral, and after a bit of digging into their background, I had to also admit they're the best candidate for the job."

Severus' brow crept its way to his hairline. "Their?"

"Healer Kakudō is a brilliant mediwitch who comes with glowing recommendation. She also happens to be Vector's great niece."

Obsidian eyes narrowed. Kakudō – he'd never heard of that surname before. Severus tried putting together a mental image of Septima Vector's family tree, attempting to place a Kakudō lineage. His lips formed a line when he couldn't, and he leaned back in his seat.

"Just how old – or, should I say, young – is this Healer whose main objective this school year will be keeping children alive during their series of potentially fatal challenges?"

At this, Dumbledore smiled grimly. "You forget that you were just shy of your 22nd birthday when you started your employment at Hogwarts."

Severus sneered. "So she's fresh out of Beauxbatons herself. Brilliant. And what of the revolving door position that is professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts? I'm assuming my application for the role has been –?"

"Denied. My sincerest apologies, Severus, you know how these things are. And your skills are much more suited as our resident Potions Master."

This time, Severus actually rolled his eyes, his annoyance punctuated by a stiffened jaw. He folded his arms and uttered an, "I see."

"Both I and the Ministry thought it beneficial to bring on someone trained in defense as well as magical law… what with the events of last year and the Triwizard Tournament this upcoming year."

"So… an Auror then?" Severus hedged.

"Ex-Auror," corrected Dumbledore.

Severus merely lifted a brow in response, and Dumbledore's ensuing laughter, this time, was genuine.

"Alastor Moody – you've heard of him, I'm sure."

"You cannot be serious!"

The former Death Eater-turned-spy launched out of his seat at the revelation. Dumbledore also stood, walking to place his mug on the dented silver tray that held the tea service – a cue that the conversation would soon be over and that he would be taking his leave. Severus tracked every small movement through narrow eyes, bristling at the audacity of the headmaster.

"Sir, you cannot – "

"It is already done, Severus."

"But, think –!"

"About your position? I have. Mad-Eye will have much to focus on this year, and none of it includes your role as a double agent. Your position is safe, Severus."

The last part was said with an air of finality that brooked no argument and once again, Severus was forced to bite his own tongue. Swallowing the litany of disparaging insults brewing at the back of his throat, Severus roughly reached into his robes and produced the two vials he'd shoved there earlier. He handed them both to Dumbledore.

"Draught of Peace," he clipped. "For Hagrid."

"Ah, yes," said the headmaster, taking both the potions and the signal to make his exit. "Thank you, dear boy. Poor Hagrid has had such a hard couple of weeks. This will 'do the trick' as the muggles say."

Severus blatantly ignored his thanks and continued a little more neutrally, "The potion can be highly addictive if used improperly, much like Dreamless Sleep; it's why I've only included two doses. If he requires more, I'll have to see him in person to make an assessment."

Dumbledore nodded knowingly. "You've shown a rather astonishing amount of empathy towards him – it has not gone unnoticed."

The Potions Master sighed in exasperation. "Please, don't mention it. I am simply fond of keeping both my clothing and the Great Hall at school free of half-giant tears."

Dumbledore smiled, blue eyes now twinkling at Severus as though he was looking at a student. "Mum's the word then, Severus, mum's the word. I'll be getting on my way then – other matters to attend to, you see."

"I'm sure," drawled Severus. He watched as the headmaster turned and Apparated on the spot instead of using the Floo. It seemed as though "other matters" did not immediately pertain to Hogwarts, otherwise the old man would've asked the Floo Network to take him back to his office there. Nevertheless, Severus had shared the information he'd needed, and sent the potions off to Hagrid like he'd wanted. If he tried to worry anymore into Dumbledore's affairs, he'd surely drive himself mad.

With that thought, the professor exhaled a long breath and then turned on his heel to return to his lab in the cellar. If the old man really intended to hire some young swot who'd barely finished her mediwitch training, there was nothing Severus could do to stop him… but that didn't mean he had to let the quality of the Hospital Wing's potions supply suffer for it. He dug in his heels and prepared himself for a gruesome day of brewing.

RK + SS

"This is neither fair nor right, you know."

"Put a sock in it and go grab that bottle of Bordeaux for us. Please."

"The vintage one?" Rowan dropped the clothes hanger he'd been holding, eyes sparkling with sheer delight.

"The very same," Bex laughed, rolling socks into one and stuffing them in her trunk wherever she could find room. She'd been tempted to cast an Undetectable Extension Charm, but keeping her trunk the size it was meant to be would keep her from over-packing. Or, at least, that's what she told herself; she bit her lip and surveyed all the clothes, books, and personal items spread haphazardly on her bed. All still waiting to be packed for her stay at Hogwarts. Already her trunk was bogged down with all of her research materials, including two cauldrons and a few key ingredients she'd be hard pressed to come by while boarding at Hogwarts.

Bex listened to the sounds of Rowan rummaging around in her kitchen, and smiled. She would miss this – him. They had now been best friends for a good chunk of their adulthood, having bonded at the hip at the very start of their healing internship, and if the tantrum he threw earlier at the sign of her impending departure was anything to go by… he would miss her too.

"You're just standing there staring at it – you're a witch! Use magic and be done already so we can get drunk and watch Iron Chef one last time before you leave me forever."

Bex snorted, but happily acquiesced. "I hope you know how unbelievable you are," she said. It was their last night to be together before she left America, and she would regret spending the majority of it packing. He was pulling a double at the hospital on the day of her departure, thus giving them only tonight to work with.

Rowan ducked as a box of sanitary pads whizzed right past his head. The wine glasses he was carrying precariously in one hand clinked together as he righted himself. "She goes away to the hills of Scotland to leave me to fend for myself against Briggs, but yeah, I'm unbelievable."

"Yes, you are," Bex said, but her voice had softened. "You're also fiercely intelligent and a brilliant Healer – you just have to stop doubting yourself so much."

"But I'm the Queen of Self-Doubt, remember?"

"Well… the Queen may need to hang up her crown if she wants to stay in Elemental Medicine. She'll also need to learn to advocate for herself a little better."

The corner of Rowan's mouth quirked upward, and his face morphed into a warm smile. He breathed, nodded, and considered his friend and colleague while she latched her trunk shut. She murmured a few protective enchantments to secure her belongings while in travel. (She did end up needing to use an Undetectable Extension Charm, but told herself it was only for an extra square foot of wiggle room for her research equipment.) Her brow furrowed upon turning to find him doing the staring this time around.

"What?" she asked defensively.

"Nothing, I'm just really going to miss you, or whatever."

Bex's face broke out into a grin. "Or whatever. Hand me that bottle, will you?"

When they were both seated on the L-shaped sofa that took up most of her living room space, filled wine glasses in hand, and the noises in Kitchen Stadium blaring from the TV, Bex finally let down her Occlumency walls. Rowan was peace. And it was in this peacefulness that she allowed her mind to just gel. Her eyes wandered from the boxed television screen, taking in the space that had been her home since the start of her internship in Chicago. It wasn't much- a small one bedroom in a neighborhood known as East Village. What it lacked in size, she reasoned, it made up for in amenities like a private deck, a community garden, and a spectacular view of a nearby city park. Of course, the place was nothing like the opulent castle Bex had been born into, but she called it home nonetheless. Peeling wallpaper, painted-over electrical sockets, and all.

"So," Rowan began during a commercial break, "are we ever doing to share with the class how our meeting with Albus fucking Dumbledore went?!"

The pair of them were now reasonably tipsy, having nearly polished off the bottle of Bordeaux. Bex sat back on the cozy sofa cushions, a lazy, yet contemplative smile taking over her face at the thought of her interview with the eccentric headmaster. Her initial impression of Albus Dumbledore had been one of intrigue; the nature of his inherent suspicion towards her, a newcomer, had briefly disarmed her. The elderly wizard, to Bex, seemed pleasant enough… if a little manipulative. Definitely the type to exploit others for his own gain – whatever that may be.

"The beard's as long as it looks in the pictures," she said, getting straight to it.

Rowan gasped. "Think he has to move it out of the way to – you know…"

Bex laughed at his devilish smirk. "Definitely. The beard is definitely that long."

"I knew it!"

"He was… nice. A bit of an oddball, for sure, but the meeting went well – I'll have holidays and some scattered days off here and there with the option to continue work at the hospital, and all of my hours at Hogwarts will rollover to the healing program."

"So, what I'm hearing is you'll still have ample time here in America to entertain me."

"You can also visit me, you know?" Bex chuckled.

"You can have visitors then?" His grin widened, if possible, truly stretching the boundaries of his dimpled face.

"Weekends and holidays only, and you can't wander the castle without me – you'll be lost from the moment you leave the Hospital Wing."

"I'll spare every weekend I can," replied Rowan with a solemn toast, taking the rest of his drink to the head.

Bex followed suit, and banished both of their wine glasses to the kitchen sink.

"I'll be spending a fair amount of time on Mount Kita-Hotakadake, too." Her eyes were cast downward. "I've been neglecting the castle."

Rowan stared pointedly. "Mansion."

"Whatever." The commercial break was over, so Rowan missed the small eye roll she gave him. "That place is well over three hundred years old and made entirely of stone… but if you insist on calling it a mansion simply because I installed a hot tub inside, so be it."

Without looking at her, he nodded, and whispered "mansion" under his breath. The fact that he said it with a completely straight face would've had Bex doubled over in laughter had she not suddenly become so sleepy.

Yeah, I'm going to miss this, she thought, fighting the sleep that threatened to pull her under. She wouldn't let packing her trunk ruin her last night with Rowan – she damn sure wouldn't allow sleep and the ensuing nightmares to do so either.

With that thought, she excused herself to the kitchen to grab a drink of water.